BOOK REVIEW: Eyes of a Hawk
How people tell stories is a fascinating topic, as old as humanity itself. The tools the tellers use to add emphasis and veracity live alongside the executive decisions translators make to emphasize (or de-emphasize) certain aspects of the story for this generation's retelling. Look no further than Cornelia, history's perfect woman—the nature of whose perfection depends broadly upon who is translating her story and in what era.
Eyes of a Hawk: Yggdrasil's Gaze is a story of stories: not just the tale of Hawk, its legendary central hero, but of the people who come after. The book is bookended by fictional notes by fictional scholars, making reference to other figures of this real world. While we spend most of our time with Hawk, following him on his century-spanning adventures, these future readers are always in the backs of our minds.
Sean Crowe's writing style for Eyes of a Hawk is not only intriguing, but also shows a legitimate deep knowledge of early poetry. Much of the book, while not arranged in verse (a decision noted in the fictional translator's prologue), maintains alliterative meter for emphasis. What's intriguing, though, is that this Old English writing style butts up against decidedly modern verbiage. Fictional items of our own world—such as adamantium and Silmarils—are blended into the metaphors. Brash language takes the reins, and occasionally falls into the alliterative verse itself. Several other modes of wordplay are all at work, weaving in and out of each other.
I haven't mentioned the actual story yet, which is because (as interesting as it is) it feels almost secondary to itself. Hawk is a mighty warrior in the employ of the Guild. His world contains dragons and dragon riders, magic alongside an awareness of some version of quantum physics, and has regrown after multiple ice ages. There are ancient legends that sound like and unlike our own. He fights literal and figurative monsters, gets wound up in politics, and—by the end—is in well over his head as he and his equally mighty wife Ilyia see her colossal aspirations through to the end.
Hawk's stories may well contain the fingerprints of centuries of translation and interpretation in his own world, as is hinted at in the prologues and epilogues. But it also, whether ironically or deliberately, has a COVID Chapter. Plagues are nothing new in either fiction or reality, but—much like the adamantium and Silmarils—the treatment of this chapter's subject matter claws its way off the page, reminding the reader of the here and now. Considering how deft Crowe is with mimicking this aspect of ancient literature in the fiction itself, I would like to believe that this was a deliberate move. The metaphor clawing its way through layers of worldbuilding to flick us in the forehead, to remind us that no translation will ever be pristine, that every modern writer will always lean into The World Now while interpreting The World Then. After literal months of reading the expected wave of COVID Books, each less cathartic and more depressing than the last, I want to give him that credit. So I shall.
As I was reading, I noticed something: I was desperate to understand how this setting came to be. The anachronistic metaphors, characters with names just slightly similar to mythological figures I knew, ice age upon ice age... I began to wonder what the deep, rich prehistory of this world was. But the more I looked for clues, the less I found. And I realized that I was becoming another of these historians, desperate to inflict my own meaning on the book rather than to engage with it. Again, I have no idea whether this was a purposeful move, but I will give Crowe the benefit of the doubt here.
Eyes of a Hawk: Yggdrasil's Gaze is a lot. If you're not a fan of ancient mythology and legend already, you may find yourself adrift in the words. But I still recommend giving it a try. If you are well-read in these areas, it's a must. Crowe shows a deft eye and hand for the writing of both the ancients and their modern interpreters, creating a work of fiction that simultaneously lauds and critiques its source.
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